HE WHO FIGHTS

by Mike Morris

  The remaining two wagons rumbled on ahead. Karn sat on the tail of Fia's with his Musket ready but what would one shot do against so many? Myri rode alongside with another pistol, another sword. She looked back but Rane waved her on. They had to keep the children safe. That was all that mattered. And with Kibon in his hand, he knew what he had to do. The only thing he could do.

  He slipped off the horse and turned to face the oncoming Bracke.

  25

  Rane watched the Bracke race towards him. Kibon roared in his hands, setting fire to his blood. He knew it was working its magic on him but this time he didn't fight it. He embraced it. He needed it.

  By the Gods, he was almost excited to fight the devil dogs. Time for them to see real power, face real fury. Their claws were nothing against Kibon's steel. He counted them, no longer afraid to know their number. Sixteen of them. Sixteen Bracke eager to die. Stupid little dogs.

  "Come on, you bastards," shouted Rane as he gave into the rage building inside.

  He shifted his stance, dropped Kibon so it was parallel to the ground and tucked in behind his hip. The leading Bracke was ten feet away, nine, eight, six. The Bracke leaped, claws outstretched. Rane moved fast and furious, sidestepping the Bracke as he swung Kibon. Energy flowed through the steel as the blade cleaved through the beast's flesh.

  He turned as another Bracke attacked. The claws cut his chest but they were nothing more than rain in fire. He separated the Bracke's head from its shoulders, moved onto the next, gutting it from left to right.

  But still the Bracke came on. He hacked another down and stabbed the next. Claws and fangs left their mark on him but the Bracke paid for each wound with their lives.

  Their attacks stopped only when the bodies piled up around him. Eight Bracke remained, weary of his sword. They had learned their lesson. They circled him as a pack, looking for strength in numbers where sheer ferocity had failed. Rane almost laughed at the futility of it all. He was death incarnate. What were eight dumb animals compared to the multitude he had sent back to Heras' embrace?

  The Bracke snapped and snarled as they tested their boundary. Kibon flicked this way and that as it looked for more blood to drink. Seconds passed, vital moments for the convoy to escape. Not that it mattered. None of the Bracke would survive to threaten them again.

  A part of Rane, deep within, reminded him that he should be afraid, but he dismissed the foolishness of the thought. He smiled. He would never be afraid again. He glanced up the road. Dust and ash swirled in the distance. Good. The others were safe and on their way. Time for him to go back to work.

  He danced left, took a dog across the jugular as it reared up, stepped left, removing the arm of another foolish enough to try to strike him. He reversed Kibon, stabbed the creature through the head as it fell.

  A weight hit him from behind. Claws hooked into his back and teeth pierced his neck. He could almost feel the pain as another came at him, thinking him weak. Kibon taught it the folly of its ways. The demon on his back bit down. Blood, warm and wet, ran down his neck. No matter. He thrust Kibon behind him, impaling the creature, and pulled the blade up, finding its heart, its lungs. The Bracke went limp, dead, but it did not fall. Its claws were too deeply imbedded into Rane. It could wait though. Five Bracke remained. He dared not take his hands off Kibon to pull the claws out of his side.

  He feinted towards the one to his left. It retreated as he took a step closer while the one to his right took the opportunity to attack. Rane was ready for it, dropped to one knee and cut its legs away. Blood spurted across the white ash as it screamed.

  The others came at him as one. Claws slashed his stomach, opening him up. Teeth closed on his right hand, digging deep, grinding against bone. He was pulled from behind and his footing went from under him. The dead Bracke on his back protected him but he still went down hard. He tried to lash out with Kibon but the other demon dog held his hand in its jaws.

  The creatures pressed down on him, slashing and gouging and biting, slowing him down, weakening him. But Rane would not die. He was the killer, not them. He got his free hand on a pistol, drew it and fired into a Bracke at point blank range. There was a yelp as the Bracke died and fell away. He dropped the gun, useless now its job was done, and went for a knife. The fire roared within him, burning away any pain, any weakness. He punched the knife into the Bracke that had his hand. Again and again with all the strength he had, cutting holes. Blood flew everywhere — his, theirs. It didn't matter. Kibon had to be free. But still the creature held on.

  Another weight landed on his sword arm, pinning it down. Another Bracke. They knew the danger was Kibon.

  Rane twisted around, brought the knife up. Hacked at the demon dog. The Bracke lashed back with a swipe of its claws. It climbed over its dead companion, and snapped at Rane. He jerked his head back as the teeth missed his face by an inch and then buried the knife in the Bracke's eye.

  One remained.

  Rane squirmed, trapped between dead demon dogs. He reached down, pulled the claws out of his side to free the one attached to his back. The last Bracke snarled as Rane worked free each claw. He ignored the wounds, could feel the magic racing through his veins from Kibon, healing him.

  He shrugged off the Bracke on his back, hauled the other off his chest. There was only the one still clamped to his sword arm to deal with. But the last living Bracke wasn't prepared to wait. It came at Rane, mouth roaring, all claw and fang. He drew his last pistol as it leapt. Claws pierced his flesh once more as he pulled the trigger. The creature’s body muffled the boom of the gun as it fell on him. He seized the Bracke by the neck, straining every muscle to keep its snapping jaws away from his face. Blood dripped from its fangs as Rane dodged his head from side to side. He could feel warm blood leaking all over his chest as the Bracke's claws slashed away at him. He jerked his legs away as the devil dog stomped down with its powerful hind legs, trying to pin him to the ground.

  But slowly, ever so slowly, the fight faded from the creature. Its jaws snapped sporadically without power and its slashing claws grew more feeble. Finally the hatred in its eyes, it's terrifying eyes, dimmed. The last Bracke was dead.

  He heaved the corpse off and then lay back, sucking air back into his lungs. He'd done it. The convoy was safe. A smile spread across his face as he gazed up at the stars. He'd bloody well done it.

  It took some time to prise open the jaw of the Bracke clamped to his wrist. The teeth had almost gone completely through. He winced with pain as they slowly slid out of his flesh, leaving his wrist in shreds.

  Rane staggered to his feet, only too aware that without the magic of Kibon he'd be dead. His clothes hung off him in strips, soaked in blood, a lot of it his. Too much of it his. But the fire raged inside him, fuelled by each life Kibon had taken so the magic did its work. Flesh and muscle grew on his wrist, knitting together before his eyes, leaving the faintest of scars as the only reminder. The magic spread, repairing holes and sealing cuts. The blood lust faded with his injuries, and he could feel his old self returning. His sanity restored.

  The sun rose in the east, spreading like blood across the horizon. Rane examined Kibon in the new light, looking for the darkness he knew was coming. That sign that said his soul was lost. The little black dots that speckled the blade were easy to find as the blood-red sky danced across the steel. He still had time.

  Kibon went back into its sheath without a fight, another sign Rane was still in control.

  "Rane!"

  He looked up. Myri rode towards him, leading another horse with her. For once the tightness has gone from her face. Relief had taken its place. She looked five years younger for it.

  For the second time that night, Rane smiled. "Good to see you." And it was. She was his family. He may have lost Kara, lost their child, but he wasn't alone. Not while he had her. Had the Legion.

  Myri stopped her horse and dismounted. She pulled Rane’s leather coat off the back of her saddle and tossed it to him. “You look like you ne
ed this.”

  Rane smiled as he put it on over his ripped up clothes. “Good to see you, Myri.”

  Myri threw her arms around him. “ By Odason’s balls, it’s good to see you too. I thought I'd find your corpse."

  "Wasn't my time to die."

  "Let's hope it never is." Myri squeezed him one last time before letting go. She stepped back, looked over the mound of dead Bracke, then back at him. "But let's not push the odds like this again either."

  Rane raised an eyebrow but said nothing, suddenly aware of how dry his mouth was and the tang of blood on his tongue. He took a water skin off the spare horse and gulped some down. It was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted. "Thanks for coming back."

  Myri held up her stump. "I may not be much use in a fight but I'm sure not going to leave a fellow Legionnaire behind if I can help it." She looked again at the dead Bracke. "Of course, there was a part of me that just wanted to get killing again, one hand or not. Not sure if I'm happy or pissed off that you did it all before I got here."

  "Be happy, Myri," replied Rane. "We did good today. We acted like real Legionnaires again — we lived up to our oath. Saved good people."

  Myri sniffed, glanced back the way she'd come, and a little of the sternness returned to her face. "Fuckers. I wouldn't mind if it wasn't for all their whining. Some of them could do with being put out of their misery."

  Rane waited for the grin that said she was joking but none came. "They've been through a lot. Shit that they're not used to like we are. You can't blame them for being for being scared."

  The storm in Myri's eyes told Rane she could.

  "We'll go our separate ways now the children are safe. We'll ride onto Orska," continued Rane. "Everything will be better."

  "You keep telling me everything will be all right once we get to Orska. Well, I'm not so fucking sure." Myri waved her bandaged stump in front of him again. "Can't see how this will be all right once the fucking magic's gone. I won't even be ordinary. How many one-armed soldiers do you know? Maybe I can get work as a town drunk somewhere once we're fucking cured? Who's going to hire me? What the fuck am I going to be good for?"

  "You won't be a monster."

  "No. I'll just be a fucking freak."

  Rane reached out to comfort her, but Myri turned her back and marched over to her horse. He watched her, helpless. There were no words to make her feel better. None that he could think of anyway. Myri was halfway down the road before Rane could force himself to follow on.

  They rode in silence, Myri leading the way. The sun climbed higher in the sky, brightening the world while the bones and fires began to thin on either side of the road. The end was near. A wind joined them as they rode, dragging some of the ash off the road, revealing patches of grass amongst the scorched earth and blue sky previously hidden by smoke. Rane could see another belt of green waiting for them not that far ahead, where the bones finished and nature resumed.

  "Fuckers," spat Myri as she slowed her horse.

  "What is it?" asked Rane.

  "The others. Those fucking God-mutterers. I left them just up ahead. Told them to wait while I went back for you."

  The grassland stretched out for a couple of miles before dropping down over the horizon, but there was no sign of Fia and her followers. "Maybe they went on ahead in case it was Bracke coming out of the Dead Lands after them and not us."

  Myri laughed at that. A sharp, unpleasant noise. "Maybe they didn't care either way. Just glad to see the back of us."

  "Can't blame them either way," replied Rane. "Half the world's scared of us at the moment." A memory of Kara backing away from him, horrified at what he'd done, flashed through his mind. A part of him was glad she wasn't around to see the path he and the rest of the Legion were on. And he hated himself for feeling that way.

  "Yeah. And the other half wants to collect the rewards on our heads." Myri nudged her horse on. "And you feel good about honouring vows to people like that? People who can't even be bothered to wait to see if you were alive or dead. To say thank you for saving their miserable lives. I thought you were cleverer than that."

  A cold shiver ran through Rane as Myri rode on. She was losing her battle with the darkness, drifting further away from him, and as much as he wanted to hold onto her, keep her safe, he didn't know what to do to stop it from happening.

  They just had to get to Orska before it was too late for all of them.

  26

  They found the pilgrims a day later. Rane spotted them first — their two battered wagons rattling along the road ahead. Fia's temple and William's cart, all overflowing with people. Karn was sitting on the back of Fia's wagon, musket on his lap, feet dangling off the kick board, and saw Rane and Myri approaching almost at the same time. He hollered a warning to the others and a lot of familiar faces turned towards the Legionnaires.

  At least Fia had the good grace to call a halt.

  Joassa and Hazia watched from the temple wagon's rear window, their children peaking up over the window lip as well. The Hendersons and their kids rode with William in his wagon upfront. Fia herself stood up in the driver's seat, hands on hips, ready to take on the world.

  "You’re both alive," she said as they drew near. She smiled. “I don’t believe it.”

  "We are," replied Rane, aware of a shimmer of anger coming to life inside.

  "Good of you to fucking wait to be sure," snapped Myri but Rane held out a hand to quieten her. Shouting wasn't going to do any of them any good.

  Fia raised an eyebrow and continued as if nothing had been said. "I thought it best to keep moving and put some distance between us and the Dead Lands. I’m sorry but I didn’t think we’d see either of you again.”

  “I don’t blame you. I didn’t think I was going to make it either.” Rane looked at the faces around them; Fia may have been welcoming but there was open hatred on Karn's, but the rest look petrified. Only William had the decency to look guilty at the way they were all behaving.

  Kibon niggled at the back of his mind. It knew what to do with them. It beat at the darkness and the anger within him, urging it to life, telling him they were ungrateful. Blood would be a good price to pay for what Rane had done — a fair price.

  He rubbed his face, reminded himself who he truly was. Not the killer. Not a monster. A good man. "I understand."

  "Like fuck you do," said Myri. "You ungrateful fuckers..."

  "Watch your mouth, freak," warned Karn, raising his musket. "Don't think we don't know what you are."

  Fia fixed her a husband with a glare. "Enough."

  "You know what I am, do you?" Myri nudged her horse towards Karn as if she didn't have a care in the world, stopping only when she was a few inches away from the end of his musket. Her hand rested on the pommel of her sword. "Well, let me tell you who I am — just so we're both clear. I'm someone who earns her way, little man. I'm someone who doesn't bleat like a five-month-old babe desperate for his mother's tit every two minutes. I'm someone who's killed more fucking demons than the days you've been on this earth. Does any of that sound like who you thought me to be?"

  "I know you're a killer," spat Karn, his hands shaking and his eyes wide. "I know you're a harbinger of death and we've been cursed since we met you."

  "Everyone calm down NOW," ordered Rane, his eyes locked on Myri. He was painfully aware either Myri or Karn would spill blood if things continued. The whole convoy waited, the pressure of violence pressing down on them while they watched Karn and Myri stare at each other.

  "Another time, little man." Ever so slowly, a smile spread across Myri's face. The most frightening grin Rane had ever seen. Especially when she turned to face him. "You ruin all my fun."

  "Wait up the road for me," said Rane.

  "My pleasure," sneered Myri. She kicked her horse forward without another word.

  “I’m sorry,” said Rane to Fia once Myri was gone. “I wish we’d met under different circumstances.”

  "Magic has its price,” said Fia. She sighe
d. "Before we part, let me give you some clothes and food to help you on your way. Odason knows you could do with both." She looked over to William, who nodded and started filling a sack.

  "Thank you," said Rane.

  "You might not be so thankful for what I’m about to tell you." For a moment the steel in her was overcome with sadness. " I believe you are a decent man struggling with whatever was done to you. But what you did, messing with magics, tainting your Gods-given soul, is still a blasphemy. And the orders of my faith are very clear on the subject. When I get to Napolin, I have to tell my order about you, about Myri, and about the rest of the Legion at Orska. I have no choice."

  "They'll send an army after us," replied Rane. "Plus every bounty hunter for a hundred miles will be tagging along hoping to get rich. A lot of people will die."

  "Magic has its price," repeated Fia.

  "You know, we did it to save you all. The Rastaks would have either killed or enslaved everyone. They liked to torture priests like you before burning them." His hand twitched, eager to feel Kibon's hilt once more. The sword knew how to prevent a new army marching against the Legion.

  "Heras finds ways to tempt weaker souls into Her machinations. No man thinks his actions are evil." Fia paused while William handed over to Rane a small sack with food, a couple of water skins, a shirt and an old, battered waistcoat.

  "Thank you," said Rane. He changed his clothes, aware of the shaking in his hands as he did up the buttons on the shirt. Thoughts of cutting them all down, removing whatever threat they possessed, flashed through his mind. Kibon could deal with the problem with ease. But Fia and her pilgrims were innocents. Just ordinary people looking for a better life. People he'd sworn to serve and protect. He slipped his coat back on. "I'll wish you good luck on your journey and all I'll ask is for you to reconsider your plans. Hopefully by the time you get to Napolin, this curse, this magic, will be lifted from not just myself and Myri, but all the Legion."